Human Mistake
by Venalosia Zea'rel
Summary: [Translation] Because to err is human. (Post s9)


Hey, everyone. Let's pretend I'm not scared of writing here.  
It was a normal day, you know.  
And then I thought 'I want to translate something.' So here we. Honestly, I don't know what to say. Don't expect too much from me? I'm French, sorry for the mistakes? I talk Latin as good as I talk ancient Greek, meaning really badly?

This fanfic is something based on the expression 'errare humanum est, perseverare diabolicum' which can also be found as 'errare humanum est, ignoscere divinum.' Litterally, it means: 'To err is human; to persist [in committing such errors] is of the devil' (thanks wikipedia) and 'To err is human; to forgive is divine.'

So guess what? It's gonna be about forgiveness, errors and

**Oh and it's some post-season 9 thing, so if you don't see the final of the season (how can you survive, first) I highly recommend you to stop your reading right now.**

* * *

There isn't a lot of things the world can't offer to people. The first is oblivion. Oblivion is too much, they can ask for it and still wait as the years pass by. Oblivion cannot be accorded to anyone, and it goes with the recklessness. Things, moves, words aren't nothing and even if a lot of humans don't care about them deep inside their mind, their bodies and histories there will always be a stain. Stain caused by these things they ignored. The last thing the world cannot offer is the error.  
Because to err is human, right?

"Dean, it's nonsense.  
- You're scared, that's all."

For now, there isn't any mistake where it begins. Two voices echo between four yellowish, dirty walls – this color must have already been disgusting the first time they put it on the wall, a mix between old honey and ear-wax here to make you throw up on the pretty pictures up there – and a grey ceiling never clean It's the fake peace of a lone room in a lost motel, on a motorway somewhere in the world. The air has this scent of petrol and burning tyres screeching on the road after hours of travel, this scent like a heavy, black smoke entering viciously in your hear to give you the worst headache ever. It's the smell of journeys spent on the road singing old song with a brother at their side. It's the smell of a time some people want to see last forever. But everything has an end. And now  
the smell is slowing fading away in the warmth of the night.  
In itself, the room isn't something fabulous. Two beds and a broken table, covered in scars and stains of coffee and other things it's not useful to describe. Two men are sitting, one on each bed. No light enters the room other than the pale one of the shining moon, up above between two clouds. No light, and their faces remain unknown, hidden by the obscurity.  
No hint of eternity.

"I am not scared. But we shouldn't be here. See each other again.  
- Come on, I know you are. After all this crap, you thinking I was dead and me busy…. Being, what an abandoned motel at night can do to us?  
- It's not the building, it's us being here."

There's a silence while shadow hands – the hands of the man sitting near the window, on the left bed - are playing with an old card deck. One, two, five. Thirty-two. And then he does it again, and again. They have all the time they want, it's not like a moment can last. After all, moments are doomed to destroy themselves permanently. The curse of time.

"Calm down. Nothing can happen, who d'you think I am? I'm not stupid."  
The deck still jumping from one hand to the other is like a heart beating. There's nothing, only their breath losing themselves in the frozen immensity of a night, playfield of the eternal race between two siblings.  
"I don't think you are. But I don't trust you, now…  
- It was you who asked it in the first place."

The cards stop their race between the shadow's fingers. The low-pitched voice lowers even more, becomes some sort of threatening, and with the sound of the night it's hard to understand totally what he is saying.  
"It was _you_ who asked, and to be honest I could have totally refused. You really think I have nothing to fucking do and I am happy you're taking back your winged ass over here asking me…  
- Dean.  
- … Some stupid crap so impossible that I was wondering if the Grace you have running through your angelic veins didn't burn you some neurons…  
- Dean.  
- … And when you arrive not even 'hello, I thought you were dead oh my god it's so good to see you how are you', no, Castiel, nothing! Just nothing. It's hard to be more impolite than you, really. I thought we were friends. Whatever. This word has no sense these days.  
- Dean.  
- What?!  
- I made an error. A mistake. "

It's said like a judgment, his voice echoing into the small room like it wants to fill it with its tone rather than with fear and silence. Cards fall on the floor, eternity breaks into minutes. In the sound of an ironic laugh, of cars on the tar outside.  
"You're lying. It's not true. It's not true, and you know why? Because only humans can err, you're not one of them and believe me you know nothing about errors and mistakes.  
- I already erred before.  
- You went here only to talk about that? "  
A blue shadow lightens and disappears in the light of highlights of some car passing by.  
"No, of course not. After all the things I could, I had to, I tried to do for you, you're still thinking that I…  
- I'm not thinking, I'm only noticing. You're thinking I'm a baby, dumb, I'm treating you like a baby. The only thing you ever wanted from me, after all, it's…"  
What is it, again?  
"Your confession."  
Oh. Yes.

"There's nothing. Simply nothing to confess, I just let myself fall. Niet. Nada, Cass. Only void. Forget it."

There only silence.  
Resonating of his absence.

In the end, what's really bringing you to let yourself down? To abandon who you are, to err?  
What's pushing you into a despair so huge that you cannot escape it or face it ?  
What is, who is maybe.  
Who can you let you down and watch you fall so down that even stars cannot shine where you are, when there is nothing above and just the dark void below. When you can only fall and fall…  
Who hates himself, after looking at you down there, sobbing?  
When a mind's broken and only remains an empty, eternal shell, who wants to fix the crushed soul?  
Always the same, here to repair.  
Because only human can err.


End file.
